Irises
by CelestialRosegold
Summary: Once upon a time, a wizard met a squib. Then she ceased to exist. Didn't she? A Mollcroft story. HP crossover
She ran away a long time ago. She couldn't take it anymore. The shifty eyes, fake smiles, and false reassurances...They were disappointed in her. How could they not be? The daughter of two the most famous people in magical history. The progeny of Alice and Frank Longbottom. A squib.

Of course they said it would be all right, and that they didn't love her any less for it, but she saw the strange glances the people on the street gave her. The hushed whispers that followed them whenever they were in public. And so soon Iris Longbottom had found herself virtually under house arrest. She remembered the pain she'd felt the night she ran away. She hated them, but they were her family. They were also not the only ones she'd be leaving. _Him_. She would miss him, more than her family. More than anyone else. It hurt. The pain was worse every time she thought of him. She had thought she'd never have to face it again.

_

She could not have been more wrong. She had felt it the day one of her closest friends jumped from the roof. She knew he wouldn't really die. She knew the plan. But it did little to lessen the pain. Sherlock Holmes was dead to the world. She didn't hear from him for the next 2 years.  
They thought she was heartbroken over Sherlock. She didn't dare to tell her friends the truth. It was even more absurd than what they thought. For Molly it really never was Sherlock.  
The pain gradually subsided, with a little help from Tom. She liked him. He was nice, and stable. He was good for her. To be honest he reminded her a bit of the young Tom Riddle she had seen in pictures as a child, but all in all he was ideal. Everything was perfect.

Until she broke it off. She couldn't lie to him for the rest of their lives, she said. She needed someone to hold her that night. But only one name that came to mind and she suddenly didn't have the courage to pick her phone up and call him.

Sherlock was gone and back again. It was becoming a frequent occurrence. Moriarty had made a comeback too. Virtually. Jim from IT. She almost laughed at the irony. She had expected the phone call from John, telling her the news on the case. She had not expected the knock on the door of her morgue. 4 men in dark suits. She was being detained under the orders of a certain Mr. Mycroft Holmes.  
_

"Dr Hooper." the familiar cold voice said, as he entered the room. "You are no doubt wondering why you have been detained. My little brother has chosen you as one of his "friends". However, it has recently been brought to my notice that your records of the years previous to 1991 are non-existent. Would you care to explain?"  
She sat dumbstruck. There was no way she could explain magic to Mycroft Holmes. It was ridiculous.  
"I ran away at 16. I changed my name and identity."  
" I expected as much. Hence I already had searched the records for anyone matching your description having run away. There were none, Dr Hooper. I can also find no records of runaways stealing the vast amount of money required for a face altering surgery. Who are you, Dr Hooper?"

She had known that wizards living in the muggle world were not uncommon, and she was fairly well known in the wizarding community.

So she had gone to the one person she could trust. Sam. The metamorphamagus had been able to change her appearance permanently, and then obliviated himself, at her request. Iris Longbottom was gone forever. Or so she thought.

Here she was, in an interrogation room, being questioned about her past. She could not answer him. She had no answers. She could not break the Statute of Secrecy. Maybe she should have… _No_. She would not have those thoughts again. She'd promised him.

"Dr Hooper. If you do not comply, I will be forced to take drastic steps."  
Silence met his words.  
"Very well."  
_

Thrown out. She was thrown out of Britain. Well muggle Britain at any rate. Penniless. Homeless. No, not homeless. She had a home. He'd promised her his home would always be hers.

"May I help you Miss?" the old matronly woman who opened the door asked her.  
"I'm looking for Mr. Samuel Aberway. Does he still live here?"  
"I am afraid not, Miss. This house belongs to Mr. Michael Sigerson."  
"Oh well…umm...thank you anyway. Good Night."

What had she thought? That she'd return after two decades and find him waiting for her?

"You are no longer authorized to be in this country. I believe I made myself perfectly clear the first time, Dr Hooper."  
Her blood ran cold at the dangerously soft voice.  
"Mr. Holmes?"  
"Astute as ever Dr Hooper. Now, why are you here? You are not welcome here. Unless you have suddenly recovered your past? No? I thought so. You are further trespassing on private property. I could add that to the case of false identity. I'm sure you will not enjoy that. Hence Dr Hooper, I would urge you to remove yourself from British soil as soon as possible."

His brow furrowed for a moment.  
"You do not have permission to enter Britain. I personally saw to it that you were escorted to Germany. No airport or train station in the country will let you in. Then how, Dr Hooper, did you get here?"

She blanched under his gaze. Then she quickly turned and walked away. Ran, might have been a more appropriate term. Again. She was running away from everything again.

How was she supposed to explain to Mycroft Holmes that Sam had given her a custom port key to his house? It was ridiculous.

She knew he had been far ahead of his peers at magic, despite not going to Hogwarts, but she had never believed that the port key would ever work. She had kept it out of sentiment.

She could hear Sherlock scoffing at her. It was foolish of her of course. The bracelet was keyed to the house, not the person. What had she been thinking? Sam was probably a famous wizard now, with his own family. What they had was history. She was a nobody. Literally.  
The guard at the gate of the mansion stopped her. Mr. Holmes wanted to talk to her, he said. Probably to throw her out f the continent next, she mused. The guard escorted her back to the building.

She noticed the garden, for the first time on the way back. Irises. White ones. Sam had always given her irises. She had given him random little sketches in return. He'd said he'd always keep them. So had she.  
"It is your name, after all", he would always say about the flowers. "They're _your_ flowers. They belong with you." He had pinned one onto her hair the day they met. She had snuck out to Diagon Alley and met a strange boy They'd struck up an unusual friendship. He was a muggleborn, his parents unaware of his powers. Hogwarts had forgotten him, somehow. No letter for him ever came. But he discovered the Wizarding world on his own, stole a time turner, and practiced magic in secret. She was the outcast. The one who embarrassed her family. Together, they were happy

Friendship had soon blossomed into something else, and until that fateful night, everything was perfect. That night, when a drunken Frank Longbottom had let it slip that he'd rather have no daughter, than a squib. By next morning, Iris Longbottom had disappeared.  
As she walked down the path, Molly felt the strange pain again. She was leaving. Everything she had here would be gone. Her friends, her job, everything. It was stupid to think it would last. Everything changes after all. Even that silly little crush on Mr. Mycroft Holmes. It was a crush, nothing more, of course. Those conversations during Sherlock's absence were just to pass the time. They had meant nothing.  
Sam… Her thoughts lingering back to him, as she entered the gigantic library. Sam would have loved it. He always loved books. Something about this house reminded her of him. Maybe it was because he had lived in it. At least she assumed he had. He could have port keyed her to a random house and she would be none the wiser. They had never been to each other's residence. The streets of London, both muggle and magical, had been good enough. Disillusioning and hiding while Aurors went crazy looking for Iris. Sometimes he'd let her borrow the Time Turner. Five hours along the Thames, but to others she'd only slipped out for 10 minutes. She had to stop thinking about him.

Mr. Holmes sat calmly at the other end other the library. She gulped as she took the chair across him and sat down.  
"Dr Hooper, I have already explained to you the circumstances pertaining to your..." His voice trailed off as he saw the look of shock on her face. He had expected disappointment, sadness, even anger perhaps, but the woman looked like she had seen a ghost. She had not been this shocked even when he had first announced her deportation.  
Molly indeed thought she had seen a ghost. Right behind Mycroft Holmes, hung a bulletin board, covered in paper. Her sketches. _Him_.  
He realized she was looking not at him, but behind him. The only thing behind him was the bulletin board. They were childish sketches, but surely she did not have to express that level of shock? Unless...

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."  
Sherlock's words. He really was going soft. Iris Longbottom was dead and he had to admit it. Molly Hooper was not, would never ever be her. He was clearly being delusional. He tried a different approach. He would make her confess she was lying. She was, wasn't she?

"You have seen this sketches before." It was a question.  
She could have said no. She could have seen a shadow that scared her. Or a spider. There could be any reason for her shock. She could have made up something else. She could have said no. She should have said no.  
"Yes."  
"Only two people have seen them."

"I know."

"One of them is dead. I am the other."  
She smiled.

"We can choose to believe many things. If enough people believe, it becomes the truth."  
The mask shattered.  
"Why?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, the hurt evident in his eyes, that had been so cold only a moment ago.  
The tears were falling freely now. It couldn't be. It couldn't be...after all these years. And yet, it was the only solution. Samuel Aberway. Mycroft Holmes. They couldn't be the same. They were so different… But it all fit. She would take her chances. She didn't have much to lose, anyway.  
"I told you, that night. They would rather I didn't exist. So I stopped existing. I know you don't remember, but it was you that changed my appearance. You had some sort of permanent spell. Then you wiped your memories, because I told you to."  
He frowned, perhaps trying to recall the memories. Then fixed her with an intense gaze, his expression suddenly changing again. Suspicion replaced the hope and angst in the blue-grey eyes.  
"If you are lying, Dr Hooper, I assure you..."  
Before he could finish, she took out a small notebook from her pocket. Another souvenir. Sentiment again. Each page had a white iris presses between the folds, with a date written below it. On the back, in neat curly handwriting, was written,  
"They belong with me. Just like you do."

And when a moment later they were ensconced in each other's arms, the lost years didn't matter anymore. She was no longer the mousy pathologist without a home; he was no longer the British Government, the Iceman.  
They just... were.

A/N: My first published story. A little bunny that's been running around my head for a while. Please review! 


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